With a heavy heart, Euthymius parted from the heavy sack of coins he worked hard for three years. Initially, he set out with the intent of purchasing better clothing, tasty foods and drinks, maybe even a short sword for protection in case times grew dire once more in the capital. “Thank you!” He said with forced enthusiasm, staring into the elderly alchemist cataracted eyes after he took the two potions from him. For a bit he was unsure on the veracity of the alchemist, whether he was a member of the New Dawn or not bothered him a little, but swallowed it and egressed to the busy street.

  One of the potions with a pale, soft orange hue revealed pinkish undertones once he lifted, checking them in the light per what Luelia told him. A question she pried thankfully not too much into. He would not be the first plebeian who occasionally spent hard earned money fanciful potions that gave them the momentary illusion of being some ancient, great magus.

  Upon the bottle’s glass, cheap ornamental wings spread, embosses and of a faux gold. At a glance, its creator tried imitating the large wings of gryphons. More or less succeeded as far as Euthymius knew those lion-bodied birds. Which essence was the primary constituent of the potion.

  “Depends.” Luelia’s word echoed in his mind from months prior, before he even formulated his plan to ascend the mountain and the villa’s walls. Where answers awaited–hopefully.

  “Whilst our bestial forefathers were elevated by the Seven, only a few received the gift of the Deossos. Some did received the gifts of the Elder Dragons, the Titans, the Elementals or even in some case a fanciful Fey improved upon the Almodo’s initial ‘outline’. But as far as we know from centuries of studies, observations, most monsters evolved, mutated into their current forms after their own ancestors settled near Leylines. Including gryphons including gryphons whose progenitors were some kind of feathered feline, that after extensive contamination, grown wings, beaks and the ethereal organs quite similar to our arkhaine points, they are just palpable and grant them the innate ability of flight. Their wings are ornamental all things considered.” Despite not understanding her words, Euthymius listened eagerly on the small lecture whilst they rested between his arkhaine studies.

  “Alchemist practically by these organs and mix it with a few other floral ingredients to create potions of flight, levitation. The effect varies, depending on the monster. Those made from the Gryphons’ organ of flight can last for hours and even imbues the knowledge, the reflex of flying into your Cognitiorhin.” The last thing sounded unfamiliar to him, but before he could ask Naghig entered their training area to give them another task. He stood in the alley wondering how he could recall the world after two years, but shrugged it away before he fastened the satchel to his breeches’ belt.

  The other was a cheaper potion–and possibly of a lower grade–meant to erase his presence. He knew only a few things about the world. The sturdiness of mountain stone, how feeble the skin is, even if hardened from years of work, how cold water brings soothe upon the clammy body after a long work day in the mines. Mundane things like that. So, he only made some passing guesses on the constituting elements of this potion to kill time, draw away his thoughts from tumbling into his death.

  “Maybe some undead? Or creature of Dusk?” Saying out loud the former made him feel a bit foolish. He thought, thinking back how Isocrates formed dancing silhouettes of little people from thunder. A spell which lasted only five seconds, but made him quite jubilant after his third week in the Quarries, on delivery duty.

  All things considered, the black liquid within the white bone decorated bottle gave him a portentous feeling. Whilst the other he expected to taste sweet or at least pleasant, this one he envisioned as utterly bitter, or whatever fetid flesh would taste like. Though he never tasted fetid meat, he expected he may get a vague idea what the ghouls his father and brother scared him when he was small and behaved not, crave.

  Fitted tight within the small space of the satchel, the bottles made little noise as he ambled towards the door at his humble abode. A pleasant scent slithered through the interstices of the door, right into his flaring nostrils. He pressed his palm against the rough wood and pushed in with a smile as warm as the air inside.

  There was a little hesitation in Euthymius as he stood on the precipice of the narrow path. The wind gently breezed the collars beating his cheeks. “Take me to the skies. Please.” His voice echoed mildly, carried by the wind as he downed the potion in one go. With a heavily contorted, grimacing countenance, Euthymius concluded the potion tasted vile contrary to his expectations from the week before he bought it. Its peachy color proved treacherous, and he prayed the taste shall fade in the next few seconds, but it did not seem willing to part for greener pastures.

  Beyond the foul taste, nothing felt or seemed out of the ordinary. No innate knowledge flown into his consciousness; the concept of flight seemed laughable. At least from what he expected after inquiring about what Cognitiorhin meant from Luelia and later from Calaviril. When he asked Luelia to delve deeper on it, he feared it may rouse suspicion after being brought up years later. With Calaviril less so, as they were in the midst of another cleansing of the sewers from the rat-kin who acquired their own maguses with an inclination towards the arkhaine arts of mind and nekromancy.

  Few moments later, he gained a vague idea what cognitiorhin entailed, the art of flight suddenly became as natural as breathing and walking. Not without a fear, but decidedly lessened, Euthymius stepped over the edge, and closed his eyes. Nearly his phallus’s tube expanded enough to let urine tarnish his new breeches gifted to him by his mother, but he managed keeping the warm fluid inside his body whilst his body twinged from the abrupt levitation. Opening his eyes, he nearly shouted in thrill and joy, as he gawked down and towards the west, a vast expanse of gilded vista shining brilliantly under the waning glow of the Illius.

  He glided along narrow path, up the twisting formation of mountain rock resembling a spire, flattened on its top. A few bird passed besides him, perturbed at his presence which led to a few scars upon his stretched cheeks. The fear he felt before was no more, and the vague, tempting notion to soar above the colorful forests of the Caesselis Island imposed itself upon Euthymius, but he refrained before it could root itself deeply. There was only a little time he had to enjoy the experience, and as he ascended in the air towards the wall, the ability to fly slowly faded from his mind.

  By the time Euthymius grasped onto the top bulwark of the wall, fear returned and he strained all his muscles, clinging and smothering the urge to cry out for help. Feeling nothing beneath his soles, knowing only a golden chasm awaited below filled him with an oppressive terror which nearly numbed, drained him from the necessary strength to pull himself over to the outermost parcel, path of the hedge maze stretching as far as he could see. Beyond, a lavish mansion towered over the verdant green walls winding across, rustling as the gentle breeze passed through their trimmed roofs.

  Landing on the dirt, the pain of his back seemed distant as he huffed deeply in and out. His body seared whilst covered in his own perspiration, drenching his shirt and even the waist length coat he brought. Strange he found the bulging in his pants, tarnished at last by the urine he could no longer hold in after the spell vanished, taking the knowledge of flight with it. He remained on the ground, waiting for the fear to pass just like the spell.

  Fear evaporated from his heart, the mist of shame lingered around Euthymius as he rose onto his feet, breathing irregularly and heavy.

  “Hope the potion can mask odors too.” With each flaring of his nostrils, the vile mixture of sweat and urine became ever more potent emanating from him. Felt glad he came alone, so he could ignore it for the time being. Euthymius bent down and swept off the dirt accumulated onto his brown coat’s hem and breeches.

  His ears twitched, hearing faint creaks coming from within the dense hedge, from betwixt its verdant pine leaves, each as sharp as sewing needles. Euthymius looked back, jerked abruptly at the hush of the pine leaves. His heart calmed once he felt the wind soothing his clammy face, a draught which disturbed their perfect stillness. Still, propelled by caution, Euthymius sent ripples out from his soles dashing a few meters about him, calming him completely once he sensed naught but a few flowers sprouting from the hedge itself deeper in the maze.

  Euthymius dipped into his pouch, pulled out the black liquid filled bulbous bottle and started uncorking it. Before it could come off, once more he heard a faint slithering, and fear returned when coarse tendrils wrapped around his ankle and pulled him in the same breath turned whimper. Landing on his front, he glimpsed the bottle rolling away, and as he turned around his eyes bulged further. From the thickness, an enclosed flower pivoted out slow and with an ophidian grace. Its petals bold and vivid red, a portentous shade of crimson dribbling from the edges. Then it unfurled, revealing an unblinking eye fixated upon him listless at a glance, yet Euthymius could augur hunger in it.

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  Another followed, larger in its circumference, grown out from a vine half as thick as his own chest, and as it unfurled a vicious maw set with four arrays of pointed teeth, snapping wildly, sallow saliva slobbered onto the earth, carrying the malodorous stench of death and fetid flesh. Without thinking, Euthymius pressed both his palms against the ground, instinctively attuned to the Will of the Earth, he conjured forth a slab of rock with edges sharp as a sword.

  The bud of a lone eye pulled back in time, the other lunged towards him, expanding into greater volumes whilst pulling Euthymius closer to itself. The sharp edge of the conjured stone cut through the vine like butter, though whatever life animated the carnivorous plant, it kept it slowly floundering towards the terrified Euthymius who himself scurried towards the potion, leaping over the roots gliding out from the hedge walls. He ducked as another of the grotesque flowers bloomed head sprung forth, aiming to bite his head off.

  He nearly screamed from the sight, before instinctively conjuring forth a spike of earth, impaling the hideous bud, which now bled its magenta blood down to the dirt. Serpentine, low shrieks passed through the parcel whilst Euthymius charged, evading the wildly reaching, flailing roots and offered a silent thanks to whichever Deos led him to the exit. Quickly he uncorked the bottle and downed the potion–tasting somewhat better than the other–and it seemed enough for the carnivorous plant to cease its efforts whilst still growling in the verdant walls.

  Leaning against the marble basin of the fountain, Euthymius wheezed and wiped the sweat off his forehead before gazing around, noticing he was out in the open. Not a single soul lingered about the front yard devoid of planted flora. Only marble statues of cats down resting, their tails erect towards the sky. All painted golden, except their eyes reflecting the daylight in various cool shades contrasting the hewn, warm golden bodies. A few trees betwixt them, offering sheltering shades where Euthymius crawled and cursed betwixt ragged breaths at whatever Fey or Taerebosian being birthed the horror lurking betwixt the hedges. Then thanked the One and the Eight, stood up with some complications, as he noticed his legs still quivered from terror.

  He also noticed the absence of the rancid odors of his sweat and urine. “Come on Euthymius, don’t think your chances are great passing through that…thing without the potion’s protection.” He murmured tensing his muscles. Though still lifted out a handful of the fountain’s pristine nectar, washing the sweat down from his face before heading towards the stairs.

  Atop, unease rooted him, seeing the backdoor left ajar. Then realized the reason for it and pushed through.

  Euthymius felt like he walked in a completely different world after he put both his feet within Proclus’s mansion. The entrance hall itself rose in stately grandeur; its high ceilings adorned with gilded cornices set with maghieth stones replicating the unaltered light of the Illius whilst the chandelier in the center shimmered with captive silvery-violet light of the stars. Though his stupor lasted a little while, the purring of small, feline creatures broke him out and reminded him why he came.

  Euthymius could not help himself, but pat the little creatures who seemed to perceive him like the hideous plant outside in the vast garden and hedge maze. A little foreboding sensation brew in his heart whilst his clammy palm and fingers tasted the softness of well-groomed fur. Their continuous purring slowly abated the feeling, just as they broke his stupor.

  “Is your master home?” Euthymius asked, not expecting an answer from the owner of the large, captivating blue eyes. Her white fur felt as soft as silk, ended in wispy silvery tips. And its eyes of an azure blue reminded him of Luelia’s, hence he felt comfortable asking the cat, although felt a bit embarrassed realizing that whilst cat’s may be of a more intelligent beast, they could not communicate in words, but in purrs and mellow mews. A little dismayed, Euthymius watched as the cat pulled away from his gentle caressing, and the scratching of its crisp, broad ears resembling horns. Though much softer and pleasant to the touch.

  Trusting it, Euthymius followed, mindful of his steps upon the hardwood floor gleaming regally as they headed for the corridor. Compared to the entrance hall, Euthymius found the corridor a bit more mundane, frilled velvety drapes hung on the veneered walls, stiffened and each a contrasting shade. Red against blue frills, black against white and so on. The sole unifying element in each were the cycling of two symbols, a circle twisting into itself, shattered along its nauseating stride into itself. The other a symbol of commerce he recognized frequenting a few shops, a golden coin with the distinct profile of the First Elhyrissiar, Anessarion who issued the usage of gold instead of silver and brass back in the old realms. A tale told by Mamerkhed, one that lulled him to rest after a long day down in the shaft.

  Betwixt each drapery, on tiered and small daises, stood oaken–or at least of wood as far as Euthymius could tell–hewn figures lacking any distinctive feature. On their forms, the gilded panoply of the First legionaries. One even wore the silken and velvet robes of the imperial magusos trained in the high arkhaine arts. Euthymius followed close the steps of the white feline. With each step, a foreboding feeling gripped him, dug its nails into his soul and heart. Once or twice he faltered in his steps, turned back towards the egress where the warm vernal light shone in through broad doorway with a softened arch, and a lofty cloth fluttering as the wind filled the whole edifice.

  Euthymius ducked almost immediately, made no sound as his whole form dropped upon the hardwood and luxuriant carpet. Close behind, the mannequin soundless stepped off its dais, swung its heavy halberd aiming to take his head, trimmed a few of his long strands. Ignoring the pain of hitting his nose straight into the hardwood, Euthymius rolled sideways, his eyes popped wide staring at the halberd planted into the polished board. He slammed his palm against the wood, from its stone penetrated through in the vague silhouette of a petite ram. It sent the panoplied mannequin up the air, down limp where Euthymius pushed it down with his weight, stepping over in a hurry.

  Amidst the cavalcade of thoughts and feelings, including the repeated demeaning of himself, Euthymius nearly missed the long, silvery blade coming for his head again. If not for the sulfurous scent filling the corridor, leaking from the second mannequin seamlessly stepping down from its dais, he may stand beside Isocrates in the long line of dead. This time, hardened, rugged black stone encrusted his forearms, fists slammed hard, but pushed only a few steps back the creature, the mannequin, leaving a dent upon its segmented chest plate. A dent which vanished in a blink of an eye. In the Y-Shaped mirror, a wide aperture parted open on the otherwise featureless face, revealing a long set of neatly tucked fangs bathed in a portentous glow. And the sulfurous scent strengthened in its silent, mocking laughter.

  He scurried past, evading its fist aiming for his stomach, reached back to the entrance hall, but stopped sudden. A few steps he glided on the floor, threw himself as soundless as he could behind a sumptuous sofa, noticing the two figures in flowing black robes, mask featuring only the spiraling symbol he seen on some of the drapes. Two spheres flew by, threw the mannequin against the wall, which he sunk deep into, with only its limbs and head protruding out. A minor relief, Euthymius thought as he jolted back into the corridor, swept his arms before himself, into the wall whilst mana gathered around and within them.

  A block of wall sprung from the right walls without disturbing the airy peace of the draperies, whilst the mannequin and the armor flattened upon the closure of the corridor’s section before the two masked figures. Similarly, Euthymius staggered and tumbled amidst arkhaine anguish upon the floor, his groanings deafening his ears to the approach of two or three set of footsteps.

  “Who is this time? One of Sussuovar’s mices?” Proclus remained behind the other two, faltering in his steps once Euthymius’s stench hit his feline snout. No breath he wasted, pinched his not right that instant before measuring the groaning boy on the precipice of his own doom. His eyes bulged, looking up, noticing the perfect closure of the corridor. “Hope enough is left in you to fix that boy.”

  “He will.” Naghig said, stepping close, looming over him. “Who would have thought the second son is more promising then the first.” Then whispered with knowing, expectant eyes.

  “Who was his brother?” Proclus asked, a bit intrigued.

  “Remember the two intruders before the Harrowing?” Proclus looked mildly amused, but it quickly vanished once he stared back at the closed corridor.

  Lastly, Ephraimur ambled over him, silent, gazing from beyond his mask with his enchanting eyes of Lapis Lazuli. He knelt down, and one finger pressed against Euthymius’s clammy forehead, he whispered. “Calm. There is no pain.” Once the whispery world echoing as if they were in a cavern dug deep into his mind, Euthymius felt the pain, the unease, the fear he felt in that moment vanish.

  Naghig pressed his thrashing body, subconsciously still under the onslaught of agony as crisp pebbles formed within his body, sliced and thrusted deep his sinew and marrow, his blood thickened, breathing became heavier in the imposed calmness, whilst the taste of earth lingered on the tip of his tongue. At the simple touch, Euthymius let out a relaxed sigh, feeling the weight of a paw lift off from his whole being, felt his inner wounds heal, the crisp pebbles vanish.

  Euthymius arose before the three by a silent command of Ephraimur, turned and swept his arms, ordering back the stone of the walls to their proper place, shrinking them back to their proper volume. “Thank the Night you cheapened on the guards huh?” Naghig turned towards Proclus staring at what remained of all his mannequins, how the years of bribery obtained panoplies laid thinner than the drapes.

  “Just get him out from the reach of my eyes, or I may tear his throat out before he can be of any use.” With faint smiles, the two left with Euthymius, leaving Proclus stiff and alone in the corridor, mourning the loss then calculating how much time and money he will need to acquire replacements. Especially after his contract perished during the Harrowing.